


The Shirt You Hate

by isthatyoularry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Banter, Exes, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5573251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthatyoularry/pseuds/isthatyoularry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Soph,” Louis says to his female executive assistant. “I’m making more money than ever, and I have just realised that I have no one to spend it on.”</em>
</p><p>At thirty years old, Louis is past halfway to becoming a billionaire, and he needs to find the one. He literally stumbles upon his university sweetheart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shirt You Hate

**Author's Note:**

> To be entirely honest... this is completely self-indulgent, and I enjoyed writing it far too much. The title of the story is a literal translation of the title of the Swedish song 'Tröjan Du Hatar' by Norlie & KKV, which the story was somewhat inspired by. No angst. It's labelled as mature, but there is a sex scene that isn't too explicitly described. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:**  
>  None of this is real. Nothing in this is meant to imply anything, nor does this reflect my personal beliefs about anything or anyone. This is fiction. Also I don't own One Direction but you knew that.
> 
> **If you wanna say hi :)**  
>  tumblr: [isthatyoularry](http://isthatyoularry.tumblr.com/)  
> twitter: [isthatyoularry](https://twitter.com/isthatyoularry)

**The Shirt You Hate**

Louis strokes his jaw with a look in his eye that he would prefer to be described as 'a sultry smoulder’. His fingers scratch through a healthy layer of scruffy beard, the matching stash above his lip something he has kept neatly trimmed for the last year. He is nearly thirty now, so not shaving should be more than permitted. Encouraged, even.

He squints down at the file of papers his associate dropped off on his desk half an hour ago. The numbers on the pages are not startling, and neither are they surprising. They’ve been almost this high for the last four years, but when the board of the company he owns (well, to seventy-five per cent, the remaining twenty by the board, and five by different shareholders) and is simultaneously CEO of, five years ago suggested that they would plausibly be making a profit of over a couple billion American dollars the year of 2016, he never actually considered how much money that is, and how much of that money is actually put in his own pocket. 

Closing the file, he swings around in his leather office chair, facing the large screen of his computer. After a few clicks and a couple of insertions of different passwords he finds himself staring at his own personal bank accounts. 

Louis has always been especially pleased with the large accounting department of his company — their excellence is always pleasing — but his own spending looks a bit, well. He is far from cheap, but he could definitely be making use of a lot more than he currently is. 

Financial stability is excellent; he doesn’t have to worry about places to live, his pension scheme doesn’t need much altering, and the members of his family’s futures are basically ensured. His sisters and one brother don’t need to take out student loans, they get to travel, and his mum never needs to carry a drop of worry on her shoulders. Despite the multiple charities he invests in, he could, however, be spending a bit more than he is when he is, well, about 413 million American dollars away from being a billionaire. Personal savings included only. 

There is a set of six black cards that lead to one of his accounts distributed to his family, that they all use admirably responsibly — he even tells his twenty-three year old sister to _have some fun with it_ sometimes — but, as he ponders it now as an official half a billionaire about to turn thirty, there could be one more person. 

He logs out of his financial accounts, clicks the button on the speaker, and leans back to gaze out through the glass walls of his office. He watches as his executive assistant spins around in her chair at her station outside his office, her long brown hair swaying in ironed curls as she picks up the phone.

“Soph,” Louis says to his female executive assistant. “I am making more money than ever, and I have just realised I have no one to spend it on.”

“Um,” Sophia Smith says, arching an impeccable brow. “There is me? I enjoy expensive Prada’s, Michael Kors, and YSL has a new —”

“Just write me a list, Soph.” Louis rolls his eyes. “But. I need a boyfriend. Quick.”

“I’ll make you a list of that, too.”

“Excellent.” Louis nods, pursing his lips. “I’ll be in my office until two —”

“Actually, you have a meeting with the board at two-fifteen, and Mrs. Anderson requested a meeting. I scheduled her in at three, in room six on floor twenty-seven. I’ll send over the adjustments of the agenda.”

Louis crosses his legs. “I will be in my office until _twelve-forty_ before I will leave for lunch in the city. I want the list on my desk by the time I am back from the board meeting.”

“No problem, Lou.”

“And,” he says, rolling his eyes once again already, “if Horan comes over to flirt with you, please send him on his merry way before I have to look at his futile attempts through these glass walls one more time.”

Sophia snorts. “He isn’t flirting —”

“That will be all, Soph.”

“Yes, sir.”

For lunch to come around takes one hour of overseas phone calls to the London office, another of going through files, and a second of sending back those exact documents. Sophia sends over his agenda for the coming days, which will surely be changed anyway at least twice before tomorrow, and Louis can finally leave the office for a very coveted lunch.

Taking the lift down to the ground floor lobby takes a few minutes as his office is on the top floor in a skyscraper in New York City. He stands next to a blushing girl in a blazer and a pen skirt, who greeted him with a bashful ‘Hello, Mr. Tomlinson’, which he answered with a friendly ‘Hi, there,’ and subsequently caused the deep red colour that reaches down her neckline. He doesn’t recognise her face, but she wears an employee card around her neck. An intern, most likely. 

They reach the lobby where security greets him amiably, and he ambles toward the entrance. His car is waiting by the curb, black and sleek how he likes it, the driver opening the door as he sees Louis approaching. He struts out on the pavement into the lunch crowd, heading directly to the vehicle with a cheerful smile at Mr. Gray, the promise of a well-earned lunch at one of his favourite restaurants on Upper East Side already boosting his mood. Paperwork makes him tired and hungry. 

Just as he is about to take the last paces to reach the car waiting for him, he casts his eyes to the right for a fraction of a second — a mistake amongst the people crowding the busy streets of New York. Louis should have this down to a science after seven years in the city — and then he is crushed against someone else’s body. 

“Woah!”

“Ooof!”

He stumbles back, rubbing his chest with a wince. “Motherf —” He grinds his teeth together, spinning around to look at the person who he just ran into. 

“Jesus!” The other man moans, clutching his elbow as he jumps around. He is in a black wool coat that reaches his thighs, a green scarf wrapped around his neck. He looks a bit ridiculous. His body eventually faces Louis, eyes trailing up in a small scowl. Recognition washes over Louis instantly, and the stranger’s green eyes taper as he realises who Louis is. 

Louis’ mouth opens to speak, but the other man beats him to it.

“You!”

“And you,” Louis frowns, shocked. “Har — Harry?”

“Yes…” The man looks dubious as he stares back, fingers still clutched around his elbow. “Louis Tomlinson,” he says then, and his face shapes into a look of annoyed exasperation. He glares at him as he cradles his arm, appraising the car and the driver waiting by his side. “You look like a dick,” he announces.

Louis breaks into a smirk, rolling his eyes. Here we go. 

“This is the look of success, Styles.”

Harry presses his lips together, shaking his head. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if you got it by being an arse.”

Louis chuckles, pleased. “You’re still you.”

“And you’re still an absolute arsehole.” Harry mocks a smile.

“You’ve spoken to me for two seconds,” he grins, sliding his hands into the pockets of the Aquascutum quilted coat placed over his suit, pointing the ends toward the man in front of him. “What do you think?”

“I can already tell you’re the exact same as ten years ago,” Harry says without blinking.

“Still as handsome?” Louis winks.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I can see that your smirk is still as annoyingly holier-than-thou. Your clothing tastes show off your pretentiousness, although, I am assuming you have a stylist now, because you were never good at dressing by the trends, which makes you all the more pretentious. And, you’re wearing shades even though it isn’t even sunny.” He smiles, his perfect set of dimples popping out. “You are still a complete twat,” he concludes.

Louis can’t contain his smile. Harry’s British accent stands out to him after years of living surrounded by Americans, and his slow drawl of speaking is entirely familiar. His voice is just as pleasingly enticing as all those years ago.

Harry’s heart-shaped face is a bit more angular now, his jaw more defined, and cheekbones sharper. He has grown; he’s slightly taller, shoulders surely broader, or his coat is doing a good job of enhancing them. His legs are mile long just like Louis remembers, and he must have let his hair grow out completely, as he is wearing it up in a proper bun. His lips are pink and plump. Louis wonders if they still taste the same.

The years have done him well.

He ticks his head to the side. “What are you even doing in New York City, baby?” he asks.

Harry pretends to gag where he stands on the middle of the pavement. “Blergh. Louis Tomlinson’s nicknames! Am I back in uni?” He looks to his left for a short second, stepping out of the way for a passing pedestrian, and then meets Louis’ eyes. “No, I am not. I am, however, late for work.”

“You work here now?” Louis arches a brow in interest.

“Yes,” Harry says reluctantly. “Moved here almost a year ago now.”

“Where do you work? Do you need a ride?”

Harry rolls his eyes, shaking his head with a knowing smile. “I’m late. Goodbye, Louis.” 

And then he disappears into the crowd of people on the pavement, and Louis is left watching the throng of people move along past the building of his office.

**

The list Sophia has put together is more than thorough. There are all of twenty-five pages in a folder, all of them dedicated to a different eligible bachelor. There are a few common factors to all of the men; age range, income, and reputation. Sophia has done a good job, making sure each man is financially secure, doesn’t have any baggage or a reputation (a man of Louis’ status can’t have drama to his name), and is in the same place in life as him.

Louis flicks through the pages on his drive home from work later that night, recognising almost all of the faces greeting him. Most of them are businessmen, but there is also an actor, and two models. 

_Jack Green?_ he texts her, ripping the page out of the folder without a second look. _Really?_

The answer comes within seconds. _I thought he was cute!_

Louis rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Jack Green just about a month ago came out of the closet after five years of marriage to a brunette Victoria’s Secret model. No, thank you. 

_Check page 19. Might be your type! :)_

He flicks forward, and the face that greets him is another familiar one. Wes Atkin; dark hair, long legs, nice blue eyes. He is a model, has been on a billboard on Times Square more than a few times, and he is only on the verge of a bit too young. 

_Do you think he will want to have my babies?_ he texts Sophia.

 _You want kids!?? Hold a sec!!!!_ And then his phone is ringing instead, Soph’s name printed on the display. 

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, dear?”

“ _You want children?!_ ” she squeals. “ _Shit, I should have made you a completely different kind of list…! No… wait, this is good, this is fine. I will send you a new one ASAP. But hey, listen to this one: Max Harper, thirty-three, executive editor at Pearson Books —_ ”

“Okay, okay,” Louis interrupts, holding a finger up even though he knows she can’t see him. “The list you gave me will be fine for now. I will have kids one day, but I won’t step back from the company until at least 2020. This is good. Get me a date with Wes Atkin.”

“ _You can have a family_ and _be CEO, Lou,_ ” Sophia says. 

“Nope,” he replies simply, shaking his head. “I won’t be an absent father. It’s not fair having children and knowing you’ll barely be able to see them. So, preferably before Friday, yes?”

“ _I gotcha, boss_.”

Ending the call, Louis folds the papers together and places the file on top his briefcase on the leather seat by his side. He drums his fingers on his thigh for a second, contemplating. 

“Mr. Gray. Partition, please?” 

“No problem, sir.”

He rolls up the partition, and Louis waits until it’s fully sealed before he presses ‘6’ on his speed dial, and puts the device to his ear. 

“Rick,” he says. “I have another task for you. Get me everything there is on a Harry Styles, born ‘89 in Cheshire, moved to the city from Manchester about a year ago. Plausibly works in photography on Upper East Side… Green eyes, curly hair. Thanks.”

When he gets home, the concierge nods with a happy grin, and Louis greets him back, smile tired and upper back slightly achy from sitting down most of the day. When he gets up to the penthouse, the sound of paws against floor that greets makes him smile genuinely. 

“Hey,” he coos as his four months old Shiba Inu comes running toward him. He kneels down, catching her in his arms as she jumps onto him. “Hi, baby,” he grins, patting her brown fur adoringly. “How are you? Good day, yeah? Did Mia take you out today, huh? Should we go to the park, too? Are you ready for a long walk, babe?”

She wags her tail and licks the sleeve of his suit, tugging gently. Louis’ stylist would skin him if he knew that Louis let his puppy chew his clothes that are worth over thousands of dollars, but it’s really hard to care when his puppy looks this happy to see him. 

He spends the rest of the night walking his dog around the park, making sure to get all the day’s energy out of her. Mia walked her around noon, but a puppy has a lot of energy even though they sleep hell of a lot more. The park is mostly void of people, and he lets her run freely across the grass lawn. He watches her run around in mad circles, taking fast turns, chasing her short tail, and shooting from tree to tree.

While he watches, his thoughts wander back to the man he stumbled upon earlier that day. Harry. He can barely contain his smile as he thinks about him. They have their fair share of history. Most of it is fights, make-ups, and laughs. He doesn’t think either of them ever cried. It was a bit messy, that’s for sure, but they had fun, even if they hated one another a lot, too. He thinks back fondly at the memories of Harry. 

He hasn’t thought about him in a while — he didn’t think he would ever see him again. After all, Manchester ten years ago is far away and a long time ago. Harry in New York City… Who would have thought?

**

The date with Wes Atkin rolls around soon enough. Sophia scheduled him in for dinner on Thursday night, after Louis’ six o’clock conference call with his associates. He meets him at a French restaurant, dressed in the same suit he wore at work as he hadn’t had the time to go home and change. It will have to do.

As it turns out, dressing up any further would have been a waste. Wes Atkin is a complete waste of time. He doesn’t understand banter or sarcasm, his manners are mediocre, he can’t flirt, and Louis gets tired of his voice real fast.

He leaves without much to say once he has finished his dinner. 

_Never let Wes Atkin within a twenty yard distance of me ever again_ , he texts Sophia instantly as he jumps into the car he messaged for fifteen minutes into dinner. 

_What? How did it go??_

_Next, please. Pick one for Monday. Lunch hours._

_Right on it, Louis._

Glancing out the window, he sees the line of stores they pass, lights shining out on the streets. Even though he quite misses London a fair amount, he has to admit that New York City is pretty. He watches the traffic and stores flash by, block after block, getting closer to Brooklyn Bridge. They stop by a red light, and Louis gazes out his window. There’s a jewellery shop right next to them, closed for the night, and another one of them clothing shops to its right. On the left side, though, is an art gallery. The sign says there is supposed to be some sort of photography studio as well, and just as Louis is about to avert his gaze it clicks. 

Rick sent him the information he wanted two days ago. This is it. Harry works here, until nine on Thursdays. This is fate. It’s got to be.

“Hey,” he tells Mr. Gray. “Can you stop right here? By the art gallery.”

He does, and Louis climbs out of the vehicle, leaning back against it, and waits. 

When finally someone seems to be on the way out of there, it’s a quarter past nine. Louis sees him through the glass walls. He is wearing a long, striped coat, a black scarf falling along the sides. His hair is free, curls reaching past his shoulders. Louis likes it a lot. 

“Hello,” he greets him when Harry is locking up. The man jumps, clearly surprised, and turns around with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks, hand with the keys clutched over his chest in shock.

“Waiting for you,” Louis smiles evenly. 

Harry glares. “How did you even find me? Stalker,” he adds on the end.

“I was on my way home, looked out my window, and there your studio was. Fate,” he grins.

“Fate,” Harry snorts. “You mean you did some sneaky stuff and found out where I work.”

Louis just grins.

Harry sighs, raising a brow at the car behind him. “Where have you been then? Work? Spa? Got your nails done?”

Louis almost laughs. “Oh, me? I was on a date.”

Harry stares incredulously. “You? A _date_? I don’t believe it…”

“I’ve grown up, sweetheart.”

“A date,” Harry mutters. He looks displeased. “You might have changed after all.”

“Give me some credit,” Louis smiles, making a sweeping gesture along his torso. “I’m almost thirty now, aren’t I?”

Harry actually smiles then, genuinely. “Thirty…” He eyes him, perhaps looking a bit amused. “I would have figured you’d have come up with some sort of cure for aging by now. Didn’t you have anxiety about the big three-oh?”

“I’ve accepted my fate.”

“Which brings you here?” Harry says sardonically, arching a brow, moody again.

“Apparently so,” Louis grins. “Care to do something about it?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, suspicious instantly. It reminds Louis of standing on a porch ten years ago, flowers in hand, which Harry later on threw in his face after realising Louis just wanted his watch back. Louis didn’t tell him that he wanted Harry, too, because back then pride was a bit too important. To both of them. Harry didn’t tell him he wanted the flowers _and_ Louis back then, but Louis knew.

“Want a ride home? Perhaps dessert?”

“Oh, so I take it your date didn’t get a happy ending?” he smirks.

“He didn’t meet my standards.”

“I take it back, you haven’t changed at all.” He shakes his head, deep brown curls swaying around his face. The wind grabs hold of a lock, swiping it across his forehead in the wrong direction. “And, as if. You don’t have standards.”

Louis squints. “If there is anything that isn’t substantial that I do have, it’s standards.”

“And how high are those?”

“You.”

Harry stares at him for two seconds in silence, and then he snorts, shaking his head yet again. He looks down at the pavement, lips pursed, making his cheekbones pop obscenely. When he finally looks up, he doesn’t resume on the same subject.

“It’s not polite to keep people waiting,” he says pointedly, nodding at the car behind Louis. 

“Then stop standing here, being snappy at me. Get in, and I’ll drive you home.”

Harry crosses his arm, contemplating for a few seconds while Louis waits impatiently, opening the car door and holding it up. “Fine,” Harry agrees, and stomps toward the car. Louis follows him in easily. 

“What’s your address again? I forgot.”

Harry tells him it, after muttering a series of curses that involve ‘stalker’ somewhere in there that Louis enthusiastically ignores and nods, leaning forward to speak to Mr. Gray. 

“Gary, we’re making a quick stop after our normal Thursday night route. Partition, please.” He repeats the address Harry told him, and Gary nods, and is soon out of sight and earshot.

“What are you doing?” 

“I have errands,” Louis explains. “You’ve made me late.”

Harry opens his mouth, scandalised. “I can’t believe you. This is _so_ typical. You were supposed to drive me _home_.”

“I will, Haz,” Louis assures him. “I just have to make a stop across the bridge first.”

Harry looks at him. “This is kidnapping, Louis.”

“It is not!” he protests. “We know each other.”

“I haven’t seen you in ten years!”

“We still _know_ each other, Harry. Or have you suppressed your entire uni experience from memory?”

“I haven’t,” he retorts tightly, looking away. 

Louis watches him for a second. “Do you find it embarrassing when you see pictures of me in the magazines discussing the wealthiest Brits in the world?” He grins slyly. 

“You’re a dick, Louis.” Harry slumps back against the seat, crossing his arms, and determinedly stares out the window. 

“I’m just taking the piss, Harold. Have you forgotten how I am already?”

“Oh, I know how you are. You’re an arse.” 

Louis continues to study him with pursed lips for a moment, small smile at the corner of his lips. “You loved me,” he states, voice soft.

Harry sighs, turning his head to face him. “Take me home, Lou.”

“I will,” he promises. “Soon.”

When they reach their destination in Brooklyn, Louis opens the car door on Harry’s side, gesturing for him to step outside. Harry sighs, long and exasperated, but moves, arms crossed where he stands on the pavement when Louis follows him out. They’re in a fairly nice neighbourhood, car parked right outside a tall building. Louis walks up to the door, unlocking it with a set of keys he fishes out of his pocket. Harry reluctantly follows him inside, suspiciously surveying his surroundings. 

“We’re not taking the lift?”

“It’s just on the second floor,” Louis assures. Harry follows him with slow steps up the stairs, the sounds echoing slightly. They reach the right floor within a minute, and Louis starts unlocking the door to the first flat. 

“Are we visiting someone?” Harry asks, then his eyes widen, finger shooting up between them. “Please, tell me you’re not hiding some sort of fugitive, who, like, used to launder money for you. I know you had some shady stuff going on back then, in your drawer there was a —”

Louis grimaces. “I take high offence to that, Styles. My business is fucking pure.” He stuffs the keys back into the pocket of his coat, and pushes the door open. “We’re not visiting. We’re just supervising —”

“Louis!” A distinctively female shriek reaches his ears, and he finally turns his eyes from Harry and faces the inside of flat he just unlocked. 

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “Mia!”

An adolescent girl is standing by the couch, a blanket covering her body, and a pair of bra straps sliding off her shoulders. There’s another youth, a boy, sitting on the couch, fumbling to get a t-shirt over his head. 

“Louis,” the girl says, cheeks burning. “What are you doing here?”

“What am _I_ doing here? I am checking up on you as I always do on Thursdays, Mi,” he says, settling his hands on his hips. “What is he — no, just out.” He points at the boy, and then at the door, where Harry is standing, covering his face with both of his enormous hands. “Out.”

The boy quickly slips his shoes on, giving Mia an apologetic smile before grabbing a jacket and hurrying past Louis and Harry, slipping out of the flat within seconds. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Louis says, arching his brows at the young girl. “Harry, you can open your eyes.”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

Louis walks over to the freezer, opening it and perusing its contents.

“You were going to be on a date!” Mia hisses from where she is still standing by the sofa, holding onto the knitted blanket for dear life. “Weren’t you talking about that fancy bar you’d take him to?”

“Well, I cancelled it.” He picks a tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, and closes the freezer. He looks at her pointedly. “You know, I don’t pay for your entire life for you to have sex. I hope you were protected, young lady.”

Her eyes widen, cheeks crimson. “I’m not fifteen.”

“Nope, you’re seventeen,” Louis agrees. He walks over to the drawers by the sink, and fetches two long spoons. “Hope you don’t mind if I borrow these. Haven’t had dessert.”

“Wait, who is _he_ then?” Mia says, pointing at where Harry is still standing awkwardly by the door, looking as though he is wishing he were anywhere else.

“Oh,” Louis says easily. “That’s my ex-boyfriend, uni sweetheart, fuck buddy, enemy, the ultimate wank fantasy in the flesh… He is a real sweetheart, Mi, even though he hated me most of the time. I loved him very dearly, though, once upon a time.”

“I am _here_ , Louis,” Harry hisses, affronted. Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Those are some pretty fine compliments, love.” He walks over, and gives Mia a gentle hug, several centimetres of space between them. She’s in a blanket, after all. “Try not to miss me,” he tells her.

He turns around, spoons and tub of ice cream in hand, and waves the other above his head before he pulls Harry out the door. 

“Bye, Mia! See you next Thursday!”

“I still hate you, _dad_!”

Louis snorts. “You love me!”

He grins as he saunters down the stairs. He can hear Harry following him, and they both get back into the waiting car. Louis shuffles inside, Harry by his side, and Gary starts the vehicle, getting them back into the traffic. 

Harry stares at him.

“What?”

“You have a daughter?” he whispers. 

Louis chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope. She just calls me that when she’s mad at me. I decided to care for her about two years ago.”

“So, you have a… foster daughter?” Harry asks, voice slow, and if incredulous then also interested. Louis likes surprising him. He always has. 

“Well,” he replies. “I’m her foster parent, guardian… something like that.” He opens the tub of ice cream, and extends a spoon Harry’s way. He takes it. 

“Why?” Harry asks softly. 

Louis digs himself a spoonful of Cookie Dough. “She was homeless, and used to hang around my office building a lot. Bought her a couple lunches a week, and eventually she told me her story. I got her the flat, a trust fund, and an allowance. By the time she’s eighteen she’ll be free of me, but I’ve made sure she is able continue school and have the same future she should have been able to before she became homeless.”

“And you trust her with your money?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “I have a fair share, she gets a life just like any girl her age, and in return she doesn’t abuse my generosity, _and_ walks Peggy when I need her to.”

“Peggy?”

“My dog. She’s four months.”

“Cute.”

They’re quiet for a moment, Harry opening his mouth, but hesitates. 

“What?” Louis asks, smiling gently. 

Harry’s brows are slightly arched, looking a bit confused. “You loved me?”

Louis chuckles. “Of course I did, Harry.”

The younger man frowns, forehead wrinkling. “Never told me that.”

“Well, kitten… I was a stubborn brat in uni.” He winks. “Just like you always said.” 

He angles the ice cream tub toward him, and Harry slowly digs himself a scoop. Harry looks at him as he sucks on his spoon, lips pink and eyes greener than Louis remembered. He looks a bit contemplative. It’s a bit silly, Louis thinks, because Harry surely must have known somewhere, deep down, that Louis’ feelings ran deeper than he let on back then?

They finish the tub of ice cream, the city, yellow cabs, and pretty lights flashing by. It starts to trickle, small splatters of rain hitting the windows. Louis has always liked the sound of rain. It’s gonna be a cold walk in the park with Peggy tonight, though.

Louis’ fingers are cold from holding the tub, icy water running down his fingers and landing on his lap. He should care about his suit, but he doesn’t. He used to be a bit vain, back in the day, or so Harry used to tell him, but not anymore. Sure, he is still very aware of his appearance at all times, but a little water on his suit isn’t a big deal. Past him would have wiped it off in a second. 

Harry does just that. He wipes two fingers across Louis’ thigh. The touch is quick, and when Louis looks up Harry himself looks a bit surprised. Louis supposes old habits die hard.

The car comes to a stop when tub is nearly finished. Harry places his spoon in the tub after licking it off, giving Louis a quick smile in thanks.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says quietly, hand on the door handle. 

Louis regards him for a moment, quickly deciding that this will not be the last time he sees Harry Styles.

“I’ll see you around, my love,” he smiles softly. 

Harry rolls his eyes, and opens the door and slides out of the vehicle. Before he closes it, however, he leans down, poking his head into the car. His long hair looks like a mane around his heart-shaped face, curling under his jaw and hanging in the air over his striped coat. 

“You might have changed after all, Lou,” he says, and then closes the door with a small push.

**

Date number two is, if anything, mediocre. James Murphy is an estate owner, owns several properties in West Hollywood, but for the moment has chosen to reside in New York City. He should be perfect. He will most probably only stick around in the city for a few months, and if pursued a relationship would be casual enough not to leave any expectations, yet serious enough for the relationship not to remain a complete fling.

James laughs at Louis’ jokes — perhaps a bit too much — he is polite, and while he might not have flirting down to a science he isn’t entirely useless. Louis leaves alone after declining the offer of a ride back to his office. Once he arrives back at work after a quick stop at home to walk Peggy, he rips another paper from his folder, tossing it into the bin.

He settles down in his leather chair, leaning back and crossing his ankles. He squints, gazing through the glass walls of his office, eyes lingering on the colourful pencils on Sophia’s desk. Two failed dates in a row… something is off. He doesn’t date often, but when he does he usually ends up his date’s bed. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a blond younger man approaching Sophia’s desk. He is carrying what seems to be a portfolio of sorts, and if it weren’t for the frequent visits that never make it into Louis’ actual office, he would presume the man is here to drop something off. As it is, he rolls his eyes, and presses the button on the speaker on his desk. 

Sophia lifts the phone, the blond kid waiting patiently. 

“Yes, sir?” Soph says pleasantly.

“Smith, unless Horan has something of actual importance to do on my floor then kick his artificially blond arse out of here.”

Sophia laughs, a sound Louis associates with summer most of the time. “Will do, sir.”

Louis should not even be aware of his name. The kid is an intern, most likely. Boys and their crushes on superiors. Christ. Louis spins around in his chair. Right, the accounting department in Belgium had filed some disturbingly low numbers… 

Speaking of numbers, his brain interrupts not two seconds into his normally astounding concentration, Harry’s phone number is sitting in an email he received last week from Rick. Louis should call him up. 

He spins around yet again on his chair a few minutes later, this time facing the view of New York from one of the taller buildings in the city. There is nothing but glass and skyline in front of him as he places his mobile phone against his ear, pursing his lips. It takes five signals, and then Harry’s chipper voice is brightly answering.

“ _Hiya!_ ”

The corner of Louis’ lip pulls up on its own accord. “Hiya, lovely.”

“ _Oh._ ” Louis tries not to take it too personally how Harry’s voice falls. “ _Louis?_ ”

“Yes, dear?”

“ _God, you have my number, too?_ ” he sighs. 

“At least I waited a respectable number of days before calling you.”

“… _You know that when you showed up unannounced, kidnapped me, and drove me to Brooklyn, it wasn’t a date, yeah?_ ”

Of course he knows. “Are you sure?”

It takes him a second. “ _What do you mean ‘are you sure’? Of course, I’m sure. I’d never date you._ ”

“Right in the feels, Harry.” Louis snorts. “Although, you did date me. You were in love with me.”

He can practically hear Harry fish-mouthing on the other end of the line. Louis laughs, head falling back against the chair. 

“ _Shut up, Louis,_ ” Harry mutters. “ _And has it ever occurred to you that I might be seeing someone?_ ”

For a second Louis falters, brows knitting. He knows Rick would have told him if he knew Harry was unavailable, but for a small moment there is an irrational thought wondering if Rick has made a mistake. But, of course not. Rick does not simply make mistakes. 

“You’re single.”

“ _But —_ ”

“No buts. Although, how about lunch?”

“… _Today?_ ”

“No, tomorrow. I’ve already had lunch.”

“ _I don’t have time tomorrow._ ”

“What?” Louis snorts. “You don’t eat lunch on Tuesdays?”

Harry sighs. “ _I am busy._ ”

“Then I’ll drive you wherever you need to go. Remember how lovely our first date was?”

“ _Lou!_ ” Harry complains, voice firmer. “ _You’re being pushy. You know I —_ ”

“Yes, yes,” Louis dismisses, rolling his eyes. “I know you hate that. Wednesday then,” he sighs. “I’ll pick you up at noon.”

Harry is silent for a number of seconds, and Louis knows he is pouting with furrowed brows. God, that absolute kitten of a man. “ _Fine_ ,” Harry mutters so quietly Louis almost thinks Harry didn’t want him to hear his reluctant word of surrender. 

“Brilliant, love.”

“ _Goodbye, Louis_.”

“Bye, baby.”

He has enough time to hear Harry grumble on the other end before the call disconnects, and he snickers to himself as he spins back around in his chair. Fucking Harry.

Before Wednesday comes around, Louis manages to find himself busy enough not to crash Harry’s flat on Tuesday night with a bottle of wine. Instead he takes Mia out for dinner, takes Peggy on a two-hour walk (she spends the rest of the night sleeping soundly in his bed), he finishes going through his emails of the day (Sophia will be proud when she hears), and for lunch, he took Paul Finnegan to a semi-fancy restaurant (Sophia will also be pleased when she hears it went quite well). 

Paul Finnegan is a fairly wealthy owner of a company renting and selling yachts. He is only in the city until November, and seems to be — just like Louis — looking for a semi-serious romance. He squeezes Louis’ thigh under the table, and flirts in a way that almost seems _polite_ , and in all fairness, Louis is slightly endeared. He could do with someone a bit looser, however, and Paul seems to rather have Louis on his back beneath him than the other way around. Which Louis isn’t necessarily opposed to. Perhaps somewhat out of practice, though. 

He lets Paul drive him back to the office, and is given a kiss on the cheek. He doesn’t rip his name out of the folder, only moves it to the back.

When Wednesday finally rolls around, Louis is in his favourite grey suit, hair in a fringe, and beard neatly trimmed as per usual. He has reserved his favourite table at his favourite restaurant, the very same he visited the day he ran into Harry on the pavement just last week. 

Gary Gray picks him up outside his building, holding the door up as usual, and Louis thanks him with a happy grin. 

Sophia had frowned in confusion at him when he passed her desk on his way out. “Date?” she asked.

"Yes," he nodded with a smirk.

“But —”

“You don’t know him,” Louis grinned, knowing that it was exactly that that was making her perfect brows fall into a frown, and her naturally pouty lips even more so. Louis ignoring her lists (a passion of hers, the ignoring part Louis’ — sometimes) she has never been on board with. 

The drive does not take long, and Louis finds himself drumming his fingers on his thigh in anticipation. Eventually, the car comes into stop outside Harry’s gallery. He can see people milling about inside through the glass walls, although Harry’s mop of brown curls is undetectable. 

Louis gets out and leans against the car, crossing his ankles. The sun is poking in through a thin layer of clouds on the sky, and he brings his Ray Bans from his pocket, setting them on his nose. 

Sooner or later Harry comes ambling out through the door. He is in a long navy coat with gold buttons, along with black skinny jeans. There is a cerulean blue jumper hiding beneath the open coat, and a red and grey thin scarf hanging untied around his neck. His feet are in Chelsea boots, and Louis fleetingly wonders if Harry makes enough money for an entire closet of designer brands. Louis is not an expert in fashion, but he knows expensive when he sees it. 

Louis could probably find out, but he isn’t going to be _that_ invasive. He only uses Rick for the necessary things. 

Harry’s hair is in a chocolate bun, and it bounces delicately with each step he takes. He is chewing on some gum, jaw stretching. Louis opens the door and holds it up, just like the other week.

Louis speaks up when Harry is only on the other side of the pavement. “Considering you didn’t want our last date to count, I am curious as to why you’ve agreed to this one.”

“It’s just lunch, Lou,” Harry sings as he casually trudges past him, slipping inside the car without a look in his direction. “Not a date.”

Louis rolls his eyes, and follows him inside. “I, as the person who instigated this lunch, see this very much as a date. Thus, it’s a date.” He closes the door, and the car pulls off the curb less than a moment later.

“Nope,” Harry says, looking at him with a smile. 

Louis squints. “You’re in a good mood,” he observes. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What happened. You only ever smile in that way when something really exciting has happened.” He nudges his elbow with his own. 

Harry shakes his head. “Can’t believe you remember things like that.” He rolls his eyes. “Okay,” he admits, smile starting to break out once more, green eyes bright. “One of my clients, the woman I had lunch with yesterday, came in this morning and bought one of my biggest pieces.”

“Your pieces? You still photograph? You sell your own stuff now?” His eyes widen in interest, a small bubble of excitement floating in his chest. Harry used to spend months trying to find people who would showcase his works.

“Actually, I meant one of my artists’ pieces. But, win-win.” He shrugs, dimples deep in his cheeks.

“Don’t tell me you’ve given up on your own art,” Louis says, frowning in disappointment. “Please, don’t.”

“Well.” Harry clears his throat. “I don’t sell my own, haven’t actually tried to do anything with it since uni.”

“Why?” he asks, displeased. 

Harry chuckles bashfully, scratching his hair. “I don’t know. You remember how it was… just didn’t really happen.”

Louis watches him, biting the inside of his bottom lip. He remembers how self-conscious Harry used to be about his photography, never used to let anyone see it unless he was really proud of one of his pieces. Louis used to beg, spend days asking to be let into his makeshift studio. 

“You could try again,” he suggests, voice gentle and brows arched. 

“I don’t think —”

“If I had given up —”

“You would never have been where you are.” Harry scoffs. “Maybe if I would have had your money back then as well…”

“Didn’t hurt having inherited back then,” Louis shrugs, far from denying it. “But I took care of it well, too.”

“Except when you —”

“Except when I bought you a car,” Louis finished, sighing. “Yes, dear. Which you returned, promptly.”

Harry stares at him for two long seconds. “Did you ever find the money?”

Louis stares back, until he can’t help it anymore and breaks into a large smirk. “Yes, I did. In the oven I never used.”

It was one of the last encounters of theirs, before Louis moved away after university in Manchester. Louis’ gift — the car — hadn’t been well-received, and he’d only found the money Harry had given back (but hidden to give him some grief) the day he left the flat he’d lived in his four years of university. Lucky that, or perhaps he wouldn’t be where he is today.

“Could one actually say that I am a big part of the reason you’re a billionaire today?” Harry ponders aloud. The car slows down, and Louis can see them approaching the restaurant. 

“My love,” he says, looking back at his sweet face, “you’re the only reason I made it this far. Back then you made me aspire to be bigger and better than I ever thought possible.”

Harry stares back, a small crease in his forehead. “You speak as though what we were was something better than it was.”

“It was quite shitty, H,” Louis says honestly, “but we had our good days, too, didn’t we?”

The car comes into a stop then, and Harry doesn’t look as though he is going to answer. Louis thanks Gary, and steps out of the car, holding the door open for Harry. He shuts it behind them, following Harry toward the entrance. He places his hand on his back as they step inside, the other holding up yet another door. Harry throws him a glance, along with an arched brow over his shoulder.

“Hands to yourself, Lou.”

Louis moves it an inch from his back. “Hands off.” He takes the nickname as a definite point on his side, though.

The restaurant is fancy and modern, yet comfortable enough not to seem too pretentious, or stuck up. The waiters and waitresses are in white shirts and blouses, black trousers, and their service is impeccable. The host greets Louis with warmth, shaking his hand and instantly summoning the owner of restaurant. The man himself approaches them as they’ve just reached their table by the windows, Louis pulling Harry’s chair out for him.

“Louis!” he cheers happily. 

“Berto!” Louis grins, squeezing his hand and hugging the older man back affectionately. His strong built is familiar and comforting at once. He hasn’t seen him in a while. “How are you, man?”

“Excellent, excellent,” he promises. “Oh, and who is this?” he wonders, raising his brows as he takes Harry in, the younger man standing with his hand on the chair, having just been about to sit down. “You don’t like to bring business here, and you never date… So, who have we got?” 

Louis smiles, unable to help it, gripping Harry’s upper arm and squeezing, “This, Alberto,” he says, “is Harry. He is very important to me.”

“Of course, of course,” he nods. He grasps Harry’s hand, shaking it. “Lovely to meet you, Harry. Any friend of Louis’ is a friend of mine.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry smiles back. 

“British, eh? Someone from home then?” 

Louis only smiles. “Something like that.”

Alberto gestures to their seats. “Please, I’ll let you peruse the menu. We’ve changed it up a bit this fall. Maybe you’ve seen, I heard you visited last week?”

“I did, and I liked what I saw. Although, I might stick to my favourite, the best lasagna in the city. Had one for lunch yesterday, and it was not nearly as pleasing as yours.” He shakes his head. No one does lasagna better than Alberto’s. 

“Such kind words as usual, Louis. Now, sit down and enjoy your meal. A lovely waiter will be with you in a moment when you’ve chosen one of our dishes. I wish you a lovely meal, sirs.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiles kindly, and sits down. Louis grins and settles on the opposite side, instantly picking up his menu. Harry follows his lead, eyes locked on the spread. “Lasagna again then?” he says, arching one of his delicate dark brows. 

“Yep. Lunch yesterday was a waste of time, honestly.” He knows even if the date wasn’t a complete failure that he wouldn’t follow it up. Paul Finnegan may be handsome, but perhaps not his thing. 

“Business meeting?”

“Date actually,” he says, looking up to see how this is received. 

“Date? I said no, so you got another?” He definitely looks dissatisfied.

“I thought it would never be a date between us.” He arches a brow, eyes on the curly letters on the menu again. “Wasn’t that what you said earlier? But, if it makes you feel any better, love, neither the food nor the company was as pleasing as either on this day.”

Louis feels him watching him, but when he looks up Harry quickly looks down, shrugging as if he doesn’t care. However, he doesn’t say anything, simply purses his lips as he peruses his menu. 

“You haven’t even had your meal yet. And it’s been, what, fifteen minutes since we got here?” is his eventual response several minutes late, and he folds his menu, placing it on the table in front of him. “I’ll have the vegetarian pizza.”

“Did you finally go vegetarian, or are you just refraining from meat as much as possible like the old days?” Louis asks, ignoring the first part of his answer. Everything about Harry interests him. 

“Still just keeping the amount down. It’s good for neither your body, nor the environment.”

“You’ve told me at least a hundred times. You even unfathomably persuaded me into being a vegetarian for two months.” That had been when their relationship had been uncharacteristically steady, which happened about three times in their four years of on-and-off romance. It would last a few months, they would break up, hell would break loose, and some sort of sex-without-attachment agreement would ultimately be formed (where obviously the attachment was an imminent thing), and so it would go on in circles, each run a little messier. 

“Yeah… but that was because I wanted your spunk to taste better.”

Louis guffaws, leaning down across the table as he laughs, looking up at Harry with crinkled eyes. Harry is smirking smugly, that sliver of mirth in his eyes so clearly visible. Fucking endearing. Louis has never gotten over how he looks when he is like this. He doesn’t reckon he ever will. Harry will always be his biggest love. 

Harry giggles, grinning down at his menu, obviously pleased with himself. Louis loves when he looks like that, too. He leans over, and pokes his right dimple. Harry’s eyes meet his, and a pink blush starts spreading at the apples of his cheeks. 

“Sorry,” he apologises with a tiny smile. “Hands to myself, or wasn’t it so…”

“You were always quite hands on,” he responds.

“And you loved that…” Louis smirks. 

Their waiter arrives at that moment, and they order their meals. Louis would have suggested some wine, but neither of them are free from work obligations this afternoon. Many businessmen Louis knows do condone themselves a beer or two during lunch, but any employee working for Louis Tomlinson who’d try would be booted on the spot. Regular water it is. 

“Work is going well then?” Louis asks when the waiter is gone, not wanting to linger on matters of the past. 

“It is.”

“Do you own the gallery?”

“No, definitely not.” He shakes his head. “It’s mad expensive owning places here. I’m just one of the senior art dealers. I collect and sell photography, and the big piece I sold was by one of the artist we’ve been having a deal with for a longer span of time. I’m very excited for him, it’s his biggest sale so far.” He smiles, as if he can’t help it, small and crooked. 

“Congratulations,” Louis grins. “I would order in some champagne, but work calls.”

“Thanks,” Harry says anyway, sincere. 

Their lunch arrives not much later, Harry’s pizza seeming larger than the ones Louis is accustomed to. He suspects Alberto might have something to do with it. The food is delicious as expected, and Louis tries not to be affected by the small moans of pleasure Harry lets out, completely unaware, of course. It’s always been that way. 

By the time their plates are cleared, Louis’ stomach would be screaming in protest at one more bite, meanwhile Harry looks somewhat nauseous. 

“You’re right,” Harry sighs as they exit the restaurant. “That was probably the best lasagna I have ever tasted.”

“The lasagna was not even yours. I offered you a bite because you were staring at it as if it were gold.”

“I wanted to try it! You kept repeating it was the best in the city.” Back in the day Harry would have simply started stealing from his plate, not waiting for an offer. Louis supposes they’re not quite there yet.

“Because it is!” he replies. “I love that lasagna. You ate _half_.”

“You got like a fourth of my pizza, so I reckon we’re even.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes,” he grins cheekily, dimples revealing themselves in his cheeks, before he opens the door to Louis’ car himself, and jumps inside. Louis rolls his eyes and follows. 

“Remember when I made you a five course dinner on our anniversary?”

Louis clears his throat, nodding. It was the third time their relationship was in a steady phase, and Harry wanted them to celebrate three years of being together (he decided not to count all the holes in those three years), and made them an extravagant dinner on a Thursday night while Louis was watching the footie team play. He had been on the team the year before, but studies and his outside of school projects with his up and coming business were cutting down on his time for sports. 

“Exactly,” Harry smiles. “I will take half your lasagna as the last bit of compensation for the humiliation I endured when you came back with half your economy class, drunk off your arse.”

Louis presses his lips together, nodding as he looks down at his lap. Not one of his finer moments. He still feels guilty thinking about it, even though he spent weeks making it up, and Harry has forgiven him several times. 

“I’m kidding, Lou,” Harry says, serious. “I’m not holding the past against you, I promise. I was not an angel back then, either.” He reaches out and squeezes Louis’ forearm, a small blush once again blooming on his cheeks at the action. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“Don’t,” Louis sighs. “I was shit in uni. You know it, I know it.”

“Consider it in the past, Lou,” Harry murmurs softly. “I have forgiven you, honestly. And I hope you’ve forgiven me as well.”

“I have,” he promises. “I did practically day I left for London.”

His phone buzzes in his pocket then, Sophia’s signal. She wouldn’t bother him at lunch if it weren’t something of importance. 

“Excuse me a moment,” he apologises, holding up a finger as he raises the mobile to his ear. “Yes?”

“ _Oh, Lou. Thank god. Mr. Langley has been asking for your input about those numbers all day. Did you go over them? He needs your response instantly. He his meeting the CEO of Geoffrey’s in forty minutes. Will you make it back?_ ”

“I will. Got the documents with me, I’ll look at them now. See you in a bit.” He terminates the call, reaching for the briefcase tucked under the seat in front of him. He places it in his lap and pops it open, but just as he does the car hits a speed bump, and the contains of his briefcase are sent flying. “Fucking —” he swears, exasperatedly reaching for his things spread out on the seat and the floor. 

Harry’s hands are everywhere, grasping for papers and tucking them back into Louis’ case. He gives him a grateful smile, and picks up another document to stuff back as well. 

“What’s this?”

Louis looks up, and finds Harry thumbing through the folder Sophia made him a couple of weeks ago. His index finger is currently stroking over the ripped edge somewhere in the middle; the place where surely Wes Atkin's page had been. 

“Oh,” he nods. “My exec assistant made me that.”

Harry looks up. “What is it?” He flips another page. “A list of enemies you are to dispose of?” He flips another, raising a brow. “Or maybe not.”

The page belongs to an Evan Parker, a model. The picture Sophia has chosen to add is from a swimwear shoot. Maybe she thought he would be impressed, or because she enjoyed the picture herself. ‘Bisexual’ it says in her description. 

“That is a list of bachelors my assistant finds eligible enough for me to date for more than a few weeks.”

Harry looks at him disbelievingly. “You’re dating? As in looking for something serious?”

“Yes,” he grins. Harry does not look pleased — that is the first thing Louis notices about the expression he is wearing. “I am,” he confirms again. 

“And you have a _list_.”

“Are you disappointed you’re not on it? To be fair, I only bumped into you right after the list was made. I would have put you on it, I promise.”

Harry snorts. “I’d never want to be on any of your lists.”

Louis smiles at him. “No, you wouldn’t. _I’m not the one_ , isn’t that what you told me all those years ago?”

“You’re actually looking for the one?” 

Louis bites down on his bottom lip, watching Harry frown right back at him. According to himself, Harry does not get jealous. Louis knows it might be true, but instead, he gets _displeased_. Louis isn’t a fool enough to believe it’s about anything else than what is always between exes and past lovers.

“Maybe,” he hums in answer. He starts collecting his belongings, replacing them in his case. Harry hands him the folder, and he tucks it in, about to look at the papers Sophia requested. 

“Is this…? Oh god, is this your puppy?” Harry’s voice is suddenly bright, verging on a tiny squeal as he continues. “She’s adorable!”

“Yeah, that’s Peggy,” he replies, seeing the photograph Harry is holding, and had previously fallen out of his briefcase. “She’s just eight weeks there. She’s bigger now.”

The car comes into a stop outside Louis’ building, and he slaps his case closed. 

“I am sorry, Harry. I’m in a bit of a rush. Gary will drive you to your gallery.” 

“Alright,” Harry nods. 

Louis leans over, touching his cheek quickly. Harry meets his eyes, and there is something confused in there. Louis gives him a small smile before bidding him one last goodbye, taking his briefcase and exiting the vehicle.

**

The days following their lunch date are busy. A couple of days later, Louis is sporting a prodding headache, and the figures on the computer in front of him are become more and more indecipherable. His focus is not on top today. 

The day has been horrific, quite honestly. It started with a three hour conference call to the London office, ending with a decision that requires Louis flying over for a few days next month. It would have been fine, except the obligations in New York are still calling. The workload is getting heavier at the moment, and even though the compensation (the money) is more than enough, it’s still draining. 

After the conference call, Sophia alerted him of two more meetings, and thus he was forced to cancel the date he had with Ted Cooper, owner of an insurance company. It’s not too disappointing, really… He wasn’t looking forward to it much anyway.

The speaker on Louis’ desk buzzes in the early afternoon, making him sigh. He moves the plastic box that once contained a salad, and presses the button. 

“Yes?” he moans dramatically.

Sophia has none of it. “There is a man by the name Harry Styles downstairs, asking to be taken to your office. I don’t know why he was not sent away instantly, but —”

Louis looks up immediately, sitting up straight from where he’d been leaning over his desk. “Send him up. Now.”

He can practically hear the cogwheels spinning in her head. “Send him up? But you said no appointments today, never mind he didn’t even call in beforehand —”

“Send him up.”

He ends the conversation, and promptly removes the remains from his lunch, disposing of it in the nearest bin. He saves the document he was typing out on his computer, makes sure he looks presentable, and settles back in his chair, waiting.

It only takes five minutes before he can see Harry being lead from the lifts to Sophia’s desk. The man looks out of place, looking around himself uncomfortably. Louis smiles as he watches. Harry’s hair is long and loose today, falling down his shoulders. Louis might kiss him today. He thinks so, yes. The boy is fucking beautiful. 

He jolts when the speaker buzzes once more. He presses it by automatism. 

“There is a really gorgeous British man staring at me right now, sporting a kitten-ish frown because I haven’t let him into your office yet.”

Louis chuckles. “Well, you better get on that before he starts tossing things.”

“Tossing things?”

He rolls his eyes. “Just see him in, please.”

He watches Sophia say something to Harry, and nods toward the glass door. Harry looks up, and seems for the first time to notice that Louis’ office is right by his side. He heads directly inside, and Louis grins when he closes the door behind him. He is in a black coat, a striped buttondown underneath that only covers half his chest. Louis wonders how his nipples fare through the cold. 

“Did you tell your assistant I would start throwing things unless she lets me in?” is the first thing Louis’ ex-boyfriend says. 

“You’ve always been stroppy and dramatic, H. We both know it.” He crosses his legs where he sits. “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you here, lovely Harry?” he says sweetly.

“You forgot this,” Harry says, presenting the small picture of Peggy that had fallen out of his suitcase a few days ago.

“You could have just left it in the car…”

Harry’s eyes narrow, something flashing across his face. _Shut up_ , is what Louis takes from it. Harry averts his gaze, and strolls over to the shelf on the right side of Louis’ desk. He fiddles with a book, eyeing the yellowed pages, before he moves on to the next object. Louis watches, amused, as the younger man fiddles with his belongings.

“I could have, but I didn’t want to risk it. It might get lost in the car,” he says idly. He lifts a baseball from its spot on a glass cube. “Signed? How did you even get this?”

“It was a gift.”

“You don’t even like baseball,” he mutters. 

“It was a _gift_ ,” Louis repeats, leaning back in his chair.

His nose wrinkles. “Still, it’s baseball… Get a football signed by Beckham, or something.”

Louis grimaces. “That would be weird.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re mates, it’d be —” He stops when he realises Harry is staring at from over by the window as though he’s grown a second head.

“You’re _friends?_ ”

Louis gives him a look. “Are you gonna come in your pants now?”

“We used to wank off to him together!”

Louis bursts out laughing, breathless as he stutters out a response. “Once! And… only ‘cause you caught me… and decided to join.”

Harry shakes his head, smile almost too large for his face. He lets out a laugh, grinning back at Louis with mirth in his eyes when he clearly can’t hold it back anymore. 

“It was one of the better wanks I’ve had, actually,” he snickers, turning to look at the view. 

“And the rest?” Louis can’t help but ask. “Were they all with me? They were, weren’t they?”

Harry turns, crossing his arms. His eyes are hooded by his knitted brows. “I’ve had some pretty brilliant wanking sessions on my own, thank you very much.”

He stands there, curls wild and tangled around on his shoulders, gaze sultry and defiant, with the bloody New York City skyline playing out behind him. Fuck it. 

Louis stands, and moves over with three swift steps. Cupping Harry’s soft cheeks is easy, and after that every moment comes naturally. He has done this before, so many times, and this does not feel any different. Harry’s lips are as warm and plump as ever, fitting against Louis’ as though he were made for him. If there is a definition of perfection, this is it. 

He feels Harry’s paralysed body soften against him, his lips moving back with warmth now only a second later. Louis had expected perhaps some tongue wrestling, but it is Harry’s that nudges Louis’ lips almost instantly, and he easily opens his mouth, hands squeezing his waist tightly. He hears his small, muffled moan, and he tugs his hips closer, leaning in and pressing the younger man against the window. His large hand makes it into Louis’ hair at the back of his head, his grip firm and tight. Louis pushes his tongue farther into his mouth, instincts taking over entirely. He knows exactly how Harry loves to be kissed, and this is it. The passion, warmth, tension, and the little hint of roughness… 

Suddenly, Harry’s paws land against Louis’ shoulder, efficiently shoving him off. He stumbles back a few paces, looking up with wide eyes at a rumpled Harry Styles, who is currently waving his hands dramatically between them.

“Oh, no! No, no, no, no. No,” he protests, chanting it like some sort of religious incantation as he paces in front of the windows. He twists around to face Louis, raising a finger. “This is not happening. This is exactly like when we broke up, and you convinced me to let you fuck me in your car at Alison Henley’s party second year. Not cool, by the way!”

Louis sighs, rolling his eyes. “You spread your legs faster than a working lady at a burlesque.”

Harry gasps. “I did not! And rude!”

Louis sighs again, and sits down in his office chair, still facing Harry. He arches a brow. “Did you or did you not say ‘get in me before I knock you unconscious’?”

Harry makes a three-sixty spin. When he faces Louis again he presses his lips together. “Fine. I did. Why do you even remember that?”

“And you —”

“I didn’t! Whatever you say, I didn’t.”

“Okay,” he agrees, now smiling softly. “You didn’t, love.”

Harry stops then, face softening and posture loosening from his agitated stance. He inhales deeply, and takes a few steps back, leaning against the window once again. His eyes are intent on Louis’ when he earnestly asks, “Why did you want to kiss me?”

Louis gives him a small smile. “I always want to kiss you, Harry, and I always will. You know that.”

Harry sighs, almost exasperatedly. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, blowing his cheeks out. “What are you doing? Like, all of it. What is your agenda?”

Louis stands, something inside him settling. He knows what he is doing. Of course, he does. He stands, and slowly walks over to stand before the younger man. He looks into his eyes, pursing his lips as he gauges Harry’s reaction to what he is about to say. 

“I am courting you,” he says, entirely honest.

Harry stares back, disbelief clear in his eyes. “You are… _courting_ me.”

“I am, indeed.”

Harry chuckles, and then stops, looking up with confusion in his eyes. “Louis, I — we.” 

“Let me,” Louis murmurs. “Don’t think about it. Don’t… start mulling it over like you always do. I'm not interested in reiterations of the past. Let me do this, and just let us see where it takes us.”

Harry looks dubious, and Louis can practically see the uncertainty and hesitation fighting with something that might actually be a small piece of desire in there. Maybe he wants to just see what could happen. But the past is obviously unforgettable, too. Their dramatic romance from ten years ago is still clinging on, and Louis would be irrational to think that two dates would change any of that. 

“Listen,” he hums, fingers touching Harry’s waist. “Did you really hate me back then?” he wonders softly. His hands stroke Harry’s waist under his jacket. “Because I truly loved you.”

Harry sighs, smile gentle, if a bit wistful. “I hated you, I did, but most of all I loved you, too. So much. I loved you a lot.”

“And how do you feel about me now?” he asks, arching a brow as he looks up. “I can’t be all that bad, yeah?”

Harry chuckles breathily again, a nervous sound, and his fingers touch the ends of the sleeves of Louis’ buttondown. “It’s been two weeks, Lou…”

“So? I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m just asking for a chance. Date me,” he requests. 

Harry runs a hand back through his hair, looking away. Louis’ hands tighten on his sides. Harry squirms. “Don’t you have a folder of people to date?”

Harry’s body is warm under his hands, and Louis doesn’t even hesitate. “I’ll throw it away right now if you tell me to.”

Harry doesn’t answer at first, and the silence grows longer, stretching on for what feels like a full minute. His lips are pressed before he finally speaks, and Louis has to admit his heart is beating a little faster. He hasn’t felt like this in literal years. 

“No,” Harry whispers, looking down. “No, I don’t know… You should — I should let you… go, find the one and all that.”

Well. 

Louis swallows, nodding. He watches Harry untangle himself, his hands falling off his sides. Harry starts backing out of the office, lips pressed and look evasible. He leaves, Louis staring after him. 

“I already did,” he hums to himself, determined. 

He found him. The one that got away. The one. He is not about to let him get away this time.

**

If Harry expected some peace and quiet from Louis’ end, he was one hundred per cent wrong. It takes Louis two days, and then he is waiting outside of Harry’s gallery, leaning against his black car. 

He wouldn’t describe the other day at the office as a rejection, rather as the first failed attempt at winning him over. It’s not a game, definitely not, but he knows he has got some points win in order for Harry to get on board with the idea. Persistence is key. 

It’s dark out, and the wind is blowing a bit harshly against his St Laurent coat. The autumn is catching out, the trees already colouring from green to yellow and red. Harry always looks stunning in the cold, cheeks pink and flushed by the wind, fingers always cold and in need of warmth against Louis’ own. Louis hopes he will get the chance to experience the feeling of Harry’s hands against his skin again. 

He returned his folder to Sophia yesterday afternoon, placing it on her desk. She had looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth falling open. She gaped at him.

“Did you find someone?”

“Perhaps,” he said snarkily.

She stood up, moving faster than Louis had ever thought possible in stilettos like those as she came to stand in front of him, grasping his upper arms. 

“Is it number twelve? Please, tell me it’s number twelve,” she said eagerly, eyes wide. “He is gorgeous, and you’d make the most adorable babies. Not that you can make babies, but it’s totally a thing online. I bet I could get someone from the web department to make us something on photoshop.”

“We don’t need things from photoshop, Soph,” he reprimanded. “Actually, you don’t know the man.” 

Sophia dropped her hands, crossing her arms over her chest. Even with her heels she is too tiny, and should not have managed to look as intimidating as she managed. “Is it the boy you kissed in your office yesterday?”

Louis sighed exasperatedly. “I should have known you were spying. Fuck, now I have to get blinds. Why don’t I have blinds in my office?”

“Because you don’t have boyfriends to kiss in there, and you have nothing to hide from people stationed on your floor,” Sophia supplied. “I am guessing the first thing has changed.”

“It has not… quite yet,” he responded, muttering. “Order me fucking blinds, Soph.”

He had left shortly, but it didn’t stop Sophia from emailing him wedding locations. He thought they had agreed he was not looking for anything too serious at the moment. Well. It might be that case that he does after all. If Harry counts as a candidate, then absolutely. Yes. 

When Harry exits the building, locking up, his face turns into an expression of befuddlement. He fish-mouths for a moment, staring at Louis with confused eyes. “I thought…” He doesn’t continue. 

Louis grins back crookedly, verging on a smirk. “And I thought I told you. I am courting you, Harry. Whether you like it or not. Now… how about if you join me for some late night adventures?”

“Late night adventures?” Harry repeats dubiously.

“I don’t mean sex, if that is where your mind is at.”

Harry snorts. “I was not imagining intercourse between you and me, no.”

Louis snickers. “That’s okay. Just, please, join me tonight.”

He ticks his head to the side, pursing his lips. “You’re courting me.”

“I am,” Louis nods back. 

“I thought I told you to go find the one,” he says softly. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Harry closes his mouth, one of those small creases in his forehead appearing again. “Lou…”

“You’ll get permanent wrinkles frowning like that,” Louis says. He opens the door, waving at Harry to enter the vehicle. “Now, get in before you freeze those delicate fingers of yours off.”

Thankfully, Harry complies and slips into the car without further persuasion. Louis joins him before the wind starts sifting in through his clothes. 

“Good day, darling?”

He nods. “Yes, thank you. Yours?”

“It was alright. I went to see Mia for a bit after work, and now I’m about to spend the night with you. I reckon it’s going to end on a bright note.” Louis gives him nod, finding him smiling back genuinely. 

“Your accent is still intact…” Harry observes. 

“So is yours.”

“But you’ve been here for… seven years? I’ve only been for about a year.”

“More or less. I moved after the business took off in London, and have been developing the corporation here in New York since.”

“Yeah, you’re a corporate arsehole. Almost forgot about that.”

Louis scoffs, looking at him with arched brows. “Compared to a large number of Wall Street corporations, I would sincerely say that mine is shockingly out of stock when it comes to dickheads.”

“Says you, the CEO.”

“Are you implying I am some sort of villain, Styles?” Louis squints.

“I know that there was something fishy in that —”

“Can we forget about the stupid drawer, H?” he sighs. 

Harry squints right back. “I know you have things to hide.”

“Harry,” Louis says, voice earnest as he stares at him intently. “I am almost thirty years old, I have adopted a foster daughter, I rescued my puppy from the shelter, I am a patron for a charity fighting encephalitis, and I regularly donate to Switchboard and multiple other charities. My last donation consisted of two millions British pounds to Believe In Magic, along with an organised ball for sick children at the National History Museum in London. I am not a villain, and I beg you to please, never imply I am one.”

Harry swallows, staring back, slightly taken aback by Louis' seriousness. "Sorry," he apologises. "You’re not as bad I always imagined since we… parted ways after uni.”

“Thank you.” Louis retorts softly.

Harry looks down at his own hands, seeming somewhat sheepish. “Sorry for calling you an arsehole a lot. You’ve only been a bit of a knob.”

Louis admits, “The kidnapping thing was a bit desperate…”

Harry giggles, shaking his head. “No… It was just typically you.” He chuckles again, a bit breathier as he mumbles, “Remember I loved you, yeah?”

Back in the day they would have never uttered those words, not even to themselves. It is strange having heard it even a couple of times now. Louis supposes they really have grown up. He scratches the scruff along his jaw as if to emphasise this, regarding Harry as the boy worries his lip. 

“I remember,” Louis murmurs back. The car comes into a stop only a minute later, and Louis slaps his hands onto his thighs. The tension feels a bit thick. “Right, love. How about a walk?”

“A walk?”

“I need to take Peggy out. Would you mind joining me?”

Harry smiles back. “Not at all.”

Having Harry and Peggy meet feels strangely as though Louis were letting his daughter meet his boyfriend for the first time. Well, sort of. Peggy is a happy puppy that seems to like pretty much anyone who is willing to scratch her tummy and behind her ears. For some reason she seems to absolutely adore Harry, though, instantly licking his nose, which she only has ever done to Louis and Mia. It seems a bit cliché, but Louis does not mind one bit. 

The park isn’t too far, and Harry does not seem to mind walking. The wind is still chilly, but Louis supplied them both with cotton gloves, and their scarfs are wrapped tightly around their necks. Harry’s hair is taken hostage by the wind instantly as they step out, and his curls have already turned into a tangled mess. Harry keeps tucking the long tendrils behind his ears, but the wind continuingly grasps hold of the locks. He looks pretty. Harry in cold weather is stunning. 

Peggy runs off once they hit the park, sprinting around the fairly empty grass lawn in circles. Louis and Harry start strolling around it, remaining on the gravelled path. There are post lamps lit along the way, illuminating the ground one piece at a time as they pass. 

“So, you will be thirty in a couple of months,” Harry hums. 

Louis bumps his shoulder with his own. “Don’t look at me like that. Twenty-eight isn’t that far off, either.”

“I wasn’t saying anything,” Harry defends. “I was just making an observation.”

“You were being smug,” Louis says determinedly. “I know when you are.”

“I was not! I was going to inquire of your plans for your birthday celebrations,” he replies haughtily. 

Louis raises a brow, but answers. “Considering it’s on Christmas Eve I am going to be spending it back home in Doncaster.”

“No work? I thought you were a workaholic.” His arm brushes Louis’.

“I am CEO after all. Everybody gets Christmas off,” he smiles impishly. 

Harry smiles back, cheeks pink, dimples out. “You must be the nicest boss in the world then.”

“I am more than happy to agree.”

The younger man snorts, looking down at the ground as they stroll. His gloved hand brushes Louis’. “You’re ridiculous.” Another brush, a little firmer.

If Louis didn’t know better, he would think Harry wants him to take his hand, but… he did say no the other day. But apart from that, Harry seems more than into their current date, and he did kiss him back as well. Perhaps he wanted to say yes, but their past is still troubling him. Louis isn’t sure, but maybe it’s not persistence, but devotion that gains trust, or perhaps just some confidence between them. 

Trying not to overthink it, he simply slides his hand into Harry’s, their gloved fingers linking. Harry squeezes his hand back immediately, shoulder brushing Louis’ as he leans closer. They don’t say anything, simply continue strolling down the gravel.

“This is nice,” Harry whispers a couple minutes later. “We never did stuff like this.”

“Because we were kids, we didn’t think about this stuff.” Louis swings their hands, waiting for Harry to retort. He regards him from the corner of his eye, noticing the tiny downward tilt to his mouth. Something hits him. “Or… did you? You wanted things like this, and I wasn’t… Well, I was an idiot, of course.”

“It wasn’t like it hurt me that we didn’t — I wasn’t spending my time dreaming about it. It would have been nice, is all.” 

Louis squeezes his hand, pulling him into a stop as they reach a moss green painted bench. He tugs him down to sit, grasping both of his hands. 

“I know you like this stuff. Honestly, I do, too. I am sorry that I never gave it to you when we were together. But… if you give me a chance, I promise I will show you how good it can be.”

“Easy now, Lou…” Harry whispers, a small blush on his cheeks that might not be entirely from the cold. Louis lifts his hand to touch it. 

“You’re quite beautiful, Harry.”

“Now you’re just buttering me up.”

Louis grins. “Am not. Just calling it as I see it.”

Harry shakes his head bashfully. “Well, you’re quite handsome… I like how thick your beard is, to be honest.” He pokes his jaw once, not exactly gently. He inhales deeply, shivering. “Do you think Peggy is ready to go? I could use some hot coffee.”

Louis smiles, before he puts two fingers to his lips and whistles. She comes running out of the darkness, muddy paws landing against Louis’ trousers. He only laughs, patting her adoringly. They get going, Harry’s arm tucked around Louis’ elbow, leaning in for warmth. It would be useless, considering Harry is the one of them who always manages to stay warmest under these circumstances, but when it comes to Harry, Louis is always a fan of intimacy and shared body heat. 

When they get back to Louis’, he makes them coffee and a few sandwiches, and he eventually orders Harry a car to take him home. 

After that, courting Harry becomes less about actually courting him, and more about spending genuine time with him. He takes him out for lunch and dinner, which he manages without any sort of restraint from Harry’s part. They walk Peggy together, again holding hands as they stroll. Harry almost looks like he wants a kiss a couple of times, but Louis doesn’t push his luck. 

He would love to kiss him, but taking it slow feels worth it. This is not going to end up like old times. Quite honestly, he doesn’t think there is any possibility it would, but taking it slow is also sort of _nice_. 

Louis has just exited the lift on his floor and is heading into his office when he spots an artificially blond head by Sophia’s desk. He stops, turning around. 

“Why are you hanging about my office?” he asks, even though he knows. 

“Oh.” The young man flushes, a deep red colouring his pale neck and cheeks. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not just hanging around on your floor.”

“No, you’re waiting for Sophia, so you can flirt your way into her heart and ask her out.”

His eyes widen. “What? No, I’m not, like, here for me. I’m… Like, it’s for my friend.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Ah. You’re flirting on behalf of your friend. What a mate you are, Horan.”

“No, no, it’s true! I’m just trying to understand if she is single or not so my friend doesn’t make a fool of himself trying to ask her out. He’s a bit shy.”

Louis squints. “What friend?”

“Liam Payne.”

“And you’re in… What is it you do, Horan?”

He blushes. “I’m a media intern.”

Louis arches a brow. Interns on his floor nowadays? Christ. “And your mate?”

“Accounting intern.”

“Accounting? How come I’ve never stumbled upon him?”

“He hasn’t been in any of the big meetings, sir. He’s new.”

Louis presses down the door handle to his office, taking a step back. “I see.” With an inwardly sigh he begins to leave, heading inside his office.

“Oh. Okay,” he hears Horan exhale behind him.

Louis will perhaps regret this. It is all fine and dandy when Sophia interferes in his love life, but if he barely mentions hers on a serious note he gets a slap on the wrist. 

He turns around. “To save you the trouble, but mostly to get you off my floor, Sophia is single.”

He closes the door, and strolls over to his desk, slumping down in his office chair. Interns falling in love with execs. Jesus. His phone silently vibrates in the pocket of his suit, and he brings it out, expecting another alert of amendments in his schedule for the day. 

_Lunch? I’m downstairs :)_

So many yes’s.

He calls down to security to let him up, clearing his desk so they can eat. When Harry steps out of the lift, he is in black skin-tight jeans and a striped buttoned shirt, hair curly and free. Louis stands and trudges over to open the door, meeting Harry’s grin with a smile of his own. Harry goes in for a hug, one of his arms latching over Louis’ shoulder, the other grasping a bag. He smells sweet. 

He gestures for Harry to settle down in the chair on the other side of his desk, and Harry starts bringing out their lunch. He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair, while Louis sits back in his chair. It takes Louis five minutes before he starts recounting the entire story about Niall Horan and Sophia in a moan. Harry listens like a proper boyfriend would (not that he is a boyfriend) and only laughs at him a little.

Louis shakes his head. “He was lying.”

Harry seems hesitant. “No… Wait, is this Liam Payne and Sophia Smith we are talking about?”

Louis looks up from his salad, giving him a strange look. “Yes? How do you know?”

“I know Liam,” he says, looking a bit surprised himself. “His sister works at the gallery. He comes around a lot after work. We're kind of friends, I guess. He has mentioned Sophia.” 

“Dammit!” Louis bangs a fist against the table. Harry looks as though he is going to laugh, because of course he knows Louis hates being wrong. “I was sure he was lying. I swear he lied about something at least… My senses aren’t wrong. Are you sure Horan doesn’t fancy her, too?”

Harry shakes his head. “You are so self-righteous.”

“Am not!”

Harry’s eyes suddenly darken, as if something crosses his mind. Louis sees it fill him instantly, and almost brings out placating hands before Harry breaks into a frustrated exclaim, “You wore that stupid _not heartbroken_ shirt for a week after we broke up just to prove a point!”

Louis relaxes again, cackling loudly as the memories come flooding back in an instant. “I loved that shirt!”

“I still hate that thing.” Harry mutters angrily. Louis laughs again, louder this time. Harry shakes his head, but Louis can see the tug at his lip. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs, tangling their fingers and tugging lightly. Harry drops his fork and stands from his chair, circling the desk slowly. Louis tugs until he has got him standing in front him, their hands laced. Harry looks down at him expectantly, and Louis points at the lines drawn on a post-it note stuck on the desk beside his computer. “Look at that.”

“What is it?” Harry leans over, standing slightly in front of where Louis is sitting. Louis only eyes his arse for a moment, because he is a gentleman like that. 

“The number of times Niall Horan has entered my floor with nothing but the agenda of having a two-minute long conversation with Sophia.”

Harry looks back at him over his shoulder. “Eleven?”

“I told you it’s not just about Liam.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head, the sound hopelessly endearing. “So self-righteous…”

Louis just grins. “C’mere,” he murmurs once more, this time gently lacing his arm around Harry’s waist from behind, leaving plenty of time for the boy to step away before he smoothly tugs him into his lap. 

Harry squeaks, but doesn’t protest. He settles, bum against Louis’ crotch, tucking into his side. His right hand lands against Louis’ chest, stroking softly. 

“We should set them up,” he says, ticking his head to the side. “Blind date.”

“You expect me to convince Sophia to go on a blind date?” he asks, unconvinced.

“Please,” Harry mumbles. “Liam would be so happy. Alberto’s? Eight o’clock tomorrow night? Liam is off that night, and I’m sure you can get Sophia a night off as well?”

Without thinking, Louis cups his cheek, and gives him a soft kiss on the lips. Harry makes a surprised noise, but his eyelids flutter shut instantly. Louis closes his eyes, sinking into the warmth of Harry’s lips without hesitation. 

Kissing Harry is a hundred per cent the best feeling in the entire world. 

“You shouldn’t do that…” Harry whispers, but he is sighing into him, his puckered and plump lips still just an inch away. “Really shouldn’t,” he breathes.

“How is my courting faring…?” Louis whispers back, his lips ghosting over Harry’s jaw.

Harry exhales, eyelids fluttering. Louis watches in content as the younger man struggles to keep his eyes open, body pliant against his. Louis presses his nose into the jut beneath his jaw, inhaling his mild, sweet scent. Harry hums, inching closer like he can’t help it. Louis’ left hand slides down from where it had been resting against Harry’s cheek, now tucking into his side, squeezing his waist as he kisses the spot under the edge of his jaw. A curl tickles his cheekbone, and he moves it away, hand sinking into Harry’s hair, feeling his breath land on his skin.

“Lou…” Harry exhales. Louis doesn’t hesitate to reattach their lips, licking into his mouth. “Mmmf… Lou.” Harry’s hands suddenly grip his neck, and twists in his lap until he is straddling him.

Harry getting hot and heavy is the most pleasing thing Louis has ever experienced. He is so pliant and needy, yet rough and knows exactly what he wants. He fits Louis so bloody well. If there is one thing Louis is certain of when it comes to their past relationship, it’s that sexually they are so fucking compatible. 

Louis breathes hotly, Harry writhing in his lap, kissing into his mouth with urgency now. His hands sink down his back, squeezing his arse firmly, pressing him closer. Harry gasps into his mouth, chest flush against Louis’.

Before they know it the sound of Louis’ speaker buzzing interrupts.

Louis groans loudly. “Great. She’s back.” He reaches over and slaps the button on the speaker. “What?”

“You should get blinds, sir.”

“Get me some then!”

“We have to continue this,” Harry exhales in Louis’ ear. “Please.”

Louis is instantly distracted. “Definitely… Yes, yes…” He molds their lips together again, Harry instantly moaning in pleasure as he bucks up to meet his crotch. 

Someone knocks on the glass surrounding his office. 

“I need to buy some fucking blinds! What is it?”

Sophia sticks her head inside the room. “Louis, Mrs. Anderson is arriving in ten minutes. I don’t think you want her catching you in a compromising position.”

Louis hangs his head back, hand lax against Harry’s back. “Fine. Dammit. Okay.”

“Oh! Wait,” Harry says, twisting around in Louis’ lap. “Sophia, before you leave. Tomorrow at Alberto’s at eight, be there. There is a guy I know who would love to get to know you. He is lovely, I promise. A friend Niall Horan’s?”

Louis watches as she squints. “Liam Payne? Yeah… Sure. Count on it.”

Louis only gapes. 

Harry turns around to face him, smiling winningly. “Told you…” He gives him a small kiss on the lips, before patting down his chest, fixing his buttondown. “Okay, baby, text me later, and please, we’ll continue this tonight…?”

Louis nods vigorously, loathing the feeling of Harry’s body leaving his. “Sounds excellent.”

Harry rights himself in his jeans with a small smirk at Louis, before he walks around the desk and fetches his jacket. He leaves with a big smile, and Louis is left staring after him dreamily. 

He called him ‘baby’. He only ever did that when they were an actual couple. Tonight feels promising. 

**

When Harry arrives at his penthouse, Louis’ tummy is filled with fluttering excitement. It’s been years since he actually felt that way, and that in itself is sort of exciting, too. 

Harry is looking possibly more beautiful than earlier that day, hair curly and free, wearing a sheer buttondown undone to his stomach. Louis rips that off faster than he ever expected. He can’t be judged, though. Harry is bloody stunning. His jeans are as if painted on, and shoving them down his thighs is almost as frustrating as it is wonderful. His skin smells as though he has showered in lavender, and his warm skin against Louis’ is heaven on its own. 

Sex with Harry was always mind-blowing, but this time it feels like even more. His hands in Louis’ hair, chest breathing against his, every piece of their bodies pressing close; it’s all consuming. His thighs are tight around Louis’ waist, his warmth around him almost making his head spin. Louis moves into him steadily, the small sounds he makes having his skin prickling. 

“Lou,” Harry exhales into his skin. “Let me.”

Harry pushes his hand against his chest, gently telling him to roll over. He tightens his grip around Harry’s waist and tips them to the side. Harry gasps, almost a whimper slipping out as he sits up, fully seated on Louis’ cock. He looks absolutely gorgeous. His hair is falling like an angel around his face, cheeks and chest flushed, cock hard and pressing to his own belly. 

Harry in this position has always blown Louis’ mind. The way he worries his lip alone could make him come undone. His furrowed brow as he works himself on Louis’ cock, moving up and down with his hands perched on his chest or grasping the headboard makes him hot all over. 

Harry’s eyelids flutter when he finds his spot, a low groan slipping past his lips. Louis’ fingers slide from his little thighs, past his perfect arse, to his waist. He holds him firmly as he meets him halfway, thrusting up. Harry’s breath audibly hitches, and his hands find their way to Louis’. 

He moves faster on top of him, searching for his own climax. Louis thinks he is falling in love all over again with the way he moves, all intense and lost in pleasure. He looks like he would do anything to reach his own orgasm, and for a moment it feels like the entire universe revolves around him and him only. Louis is enthralled. All he wants is to help him reach it, and if he finds his own along the way then that is only a bonus. 

When Harry comes, his limbs go lax, thighs shaking and hair hanging down around his face. His face is pink, and Louis follows him over the edge so easily. He slowly reaches up, and tucks his dark hair behind his ear, thumb gently stroking his temple. Harry removes himself after a moment, and falls into a boneless heap by his side as Louis discards of the condom. 

“Come.” Harry pulls weakly at Louis’ nearest limb, and he curls around him, arm around his waist. Spooning Harry, even though he is taller, has always worked surprisingly well. Harry hums contentedly, snuggling back against him. 

And, Louis is fully content with falling asleep with a mouthful of Harry’s lavender smelling curls, but there is something he has to say first. 

“H,” he whispers. 

“Mm?” 

“Are you listening, love?”

“Yeah.” His hand squeezes Louis’ where it’s flatly pressed against his chest

Louis takes a deep breath. “You know… Perhaps past me wasn’t right for you then, but the man I am has changed a lot since then. You loved me, and I loved you, but I wasn’t right for you. We didn’t fit entirely. Now, however… I’m not as ridiculously self-righteous, or heedless. My entire life is about responsibility, and I’ve matured.” He takes another breath. “But I am still me. I think past me wasn’t right for you, even though you loved me. But, maybe me right now is right for you?”

Harry strokes his hand. “You act as though you’re the only one who made mistakes back then. I did, too.”

“Oh, I know.” Louis chuckles, and Harry’s nails dig into his arm, giggling. Louis hugs him tighter. “Give me a chance, is all I ask. Even though it feels like you already did.”

“Yeah, I did,” Harry whispers. “But okay, finish your courting, as you call it. Maybe we’ll make it this time.”

Louis grins, hugging Harry tighter against himself. He presses a kiss to hair, and in turn Harry gives their joined hands a small peck. He hums contentedly, and Louis thinks he could listen to that precise sound for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, thanks for reading. Much love xx
> 
>  **If you wanna say hi :)**  
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